Blue and Grey and Green with a hint of Gold
by AngelisIgniRelucent
Summary: Pirates of the Caribbean, On Stranger Tides, Philip and Syrena's story ... Klaine style! Mer!Kurt, spoilers for the film ... might not make sense if you haven't seen it ... but whatever, come read!


**Ok, so I've been working on this a while, and I still don't think it flows right, but I just wanted to get it out … it's basically a Klaine version of Philip and Syrena's story in Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, so basically spoilers for that. I also have no idea if this will make any sense if you haven't seen it because I only focussed on them, so the wider storyline is completely non-existent here … I don't own anything blah blah blah**

There's fire. Fire and _singing_. And then there's screams and snarls and gunshots and, _God_, you've just got to _get away_. You try to stumble up to higher ground, away from the pale hands, but you find yourself back at the edge of the water, and you're moving _towards _the voices, because, _God, _they're so beautiful. Suddenly you're on the ground, head cracking sharply against the rocks, and you're aware of the hand that releases your calf, the wet flopping sounds and the burning debris raining down on you. You jerk yourself back, away from the water, because God knows you've seen those teeth, but you realise it's making no move towards you. The _mermaid_. You can make out its tail, struggling weakly against where it's pinned down by a large piece of wood. You ready your sword before tentatively releasing the wriggling mass. You try not to marvel at how the scales shimmer in the flickering fire-light, blue and grey and green all at the same time, with a hint of gold. It tries to swim away immediately, but it's slow in the shallow water. You catch up easily. You hear the cries of your comrades, fallen victim to these creatures, and you do not hesitate in bringing your sword down. You feel more than a little sick as you pierce the flesh, holding it down against the thrashing and writhing. The creature flips and twists, but, realising the futility, ends up backed against a rock.

It's the sound that makes you look up. It's just a little breathy sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, but it sounds so pained, so _vulnerable_, that your head snaps up in shock. And then you think you forget to breathe or something, because it's not a mermaid at all. _He_'s not a mermaid at all. He's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. The first thing you notice is that his eyes are the exact same shade of blue and grey and green with a hint of gold that his scales are, and you're trapped, locked in his gaze for a split second that feels like forever. You see the hurt in those eyes, the fear in his posture, cowering against the rocks, you can feel his trembling through your arm, and you don't even hesitate to pull out your sword. You retch as the blood swirls up, mixing in with the water. Your eyes lock back with his, the words 'go' and 'swim away' on your lips, but it's too late, because he's struggling against the nets, he's _trapped_. His eyes fill with despair as the men seize him, roughly. You want to shout at them to be careful with him, but your voice sticks in your throat. His eyes stay transfixed on you as they drag him away.

o*o*o

You follow, numbly, your body just obeying orders, but your mind still fixated on that look – betrayed and pitying, defiant and despairing, heartbreakingly beautiful… You try to avert your eyes from the glass … tank? Coffin? Both of those words make you feel sick, so you try to avoid thinking about it all together, but you can't keep your thoughts away just like you can't keep your eyes away. Your gaze drags over his pale, flawless skin,

"Quartermaster! He can't _breathe!_" you cry out, but he just shrugs.  
"It's got water."  
"But he needs _air! _You're _killing _him!" and you feel rage bubbling over inside of you as he just turns away. You're on your feet before you've even considered the stupidity of defying the enormous, apparently un-killable pirate, because you can see the beautiful creature struggling for breath and you're finding it difficult to breathe yourself. You grab the quartermaster's sword from its sheath, taking advantage of his surprise to shove it between the clasp of the container and twist it sharply. The mermaid gasps down the fresh air, arching his body up so his mouth is closer to the opening. You're lost in staring at the way his shell-pink lips stretch around nothingness, at the way his smooth chest expands and contracts with each shuddering breath, but when the quartermaster wrenches the sword out, you automatically shove your bible in its spot. You feel no guilt for that – God would understand that it's being used to save a life.

You look back to the mermaid. He's breathing easier now, and you notice the way his eyes flicker down as you look up, a slight flush rising on his cheeks. He glances up again, shyly meeting your gaze, and you find yourself lost in those _eyes_.

o*o*o

There's a _crash_, and you whirl round to see the tank smashed on the ground, water rushing away across the forest floor, men struggling up, cursing. The mermaid, _writhing_.

Everybody stops and simply stares as he thrashes on the ground, eyes widening as his shimmering scales recede, leaving a pair of strong, white legs in their place. He curls up, hugging his knees to his chest, shivering and refusing to look up. You feel that anger rise again as they stare at him like he's an animal, when all you see is a vulnerable, beautiful, _very _naked man. You strip off your jerkin and throw it to the floor, pulling your shirt off as you approach him. He starts violently as you lay your hand on his shoulder and you find yourself making a soothing sound, deep in your throat. You wrap your shirt around him as best you can, grateful of his slender figure, and try to ignore the thrills in your fingertips as they brush his skin.  
"You will walk." Comes the command, and you offer your hand to him. He ignores it, struggling to his feet of his own accord. You can't pull your gaze away from the lean muscle of his legs, but the shaky step snaps you out of it, and you're there by his side before he even knows he's going to fall, catching him and lowering him gently to the ground. He glares defiantly up at the captain, and there's _something _shining in those blue-grey eyes. Something like _strength _and _vitality_, something like _life. _  
"I cannot." You just blink at the sound – his voice is musical, high, but too raw for it to be feminine, with a strange lilting accent. He could be an angel.  
"Walk or die." You start at the rasp of a sword being pulled from its sheath, and glare at the quartermaster, who's sword is brushing against your shirt.  
"Put your arms around me."  
"I do not ask for your help!" And his glare is defiant.  
"But you need it." You try to make your voice as soft as you can, and you see some of his pride melt under your gaze. Wordlessly, he holds his arms out to you, manoeuvring himself so it's easier for you to pick him up.

You know it shouldn't feel as good as this to be _close _to him, to _touch _him, but you can't help yourself.

"Wh-what is your name?" he asks, softly, and now that you listen closer, you can hear that his church-bell voice is a little rough around the edges, like it's not accustomed to being used.  
"Blaine. I'm Blaine."  
"Blaine," he repeats, rolling it around in his mouth like he's tasting it. You want him to say it again.  
"And, uh, what's yours?" And you can't stop the small gasp from escaping your lips as a quick smile flashes across his porcelain features.  
"You wouldn't be able to say it."  
"Oh …" and you curse your inarticulacy. "What should I call you?"  
"Does it matter?" and suddenly his voice is sharp and accusatory. You don't like the bitter twist his features have taken on, and you're sure you shouldn't find him so beautiful. "I'll be dead in a few days."  
"Don't say that!" And he flinches at your outburst. You squeeze him to your chest a little tighter, reassuring. "Sorry, I didn't mean … it's just … it matters to me."  
"Do you always have this much trouble getting your words out?" he asks, and there's a teasing twinkle in his eyes that just makes you want to lean down and _kiss _him …  
"Um … " and his little laugh is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

o*o*o

"You are different. You are different from these men." His clear voice shocks you out of your reverie and you hurry to answer, your words tripping over themselves in their haste to leave your mouth.  
"Yes, I- I'm not a pirate. I'm a missionary." You feel the colour rush to your cheeks as a small smile crosses his face at your incoherency, but then his forehead crumples in confusion, and your eyebrows rise in shock. "You don't … know what that is?"  
"I have never heard this word before … but it must be good. Because you are good. You _protect_." And you see a slight colour touch _his_ usually-so-pale cheeks. "What does it mean?"  
"It means I have … faith. I believe in God, who created everything, who watches over us. He protects us all."  
"Even me?"  
"I- I do not know."

You both lapse into silence then, lost in thought. He chews on his bottom lip as he thinks and you think you've never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

The party comes to a halt and you hurry to find a rock to set him down on. You do so, gently positioning him so that your shirt preserves his modesty. You stretch your arms up, above your head, rolling your shoulders to relieve some of the ache. You glance down at him just in time to see him drop his head, but not before you catch sight of his burning blush and those bright, _bright _eyes. You fight a smile.

"Such beauty. Surely you are one of God's own creations and not one of those dark creatures which found no refuge on the Ark. Such beauty. Yet deadly." You tried to stop that last bit from stumbling out of your mouth, you really did, but it seems that the sheer, disarming nature of this creature has stolen your ability to think clearly.  
"Deadly? No!" And the distress is clear in his voice. You wince. _You _upset him.  
"You attacked me." You say, because it's true, and because you can't think of anything to say to take that wild look of despair out of his eyes.  
"No!" You see it then.  
"… You pushed me down out of the way." He doesn't even need to respond – his silence says it all.

"Bring the creature – cover its head!" The captain yells, and you feel some of the simmering rage boil over.  
"He has a name!" and you're up, on your feet, glaring at this heartless man.  
"Pray, tell." His smile is mocking. You don't care. You glance down at him, and his face is a combination of shocked, expectant, confused and _so grateful _that you think your heart breaks.  
"He is Kurt."

o*o*o

You're there. You're there and it's _time_. And the fact that you knew this was coming doesn't stop it from hurting. Doesn't stop you from being _completely powerless to help him._ They've got him tied up, just deep enough in the water to make his death slow. You can see him struggling, scales starting to cover his legs over, but not able to finish. He's stuck halfway between, in some sort of Limbo, and he must be in _agony_, but _still_ he won't cry.

"You _will not torture him!_ There is no place in Heaven for you if you do! No hope of redemption!" You call, struggling weakly against the men restraining you, but you know it's no use. Only the Captain's daughter's fear for his soul can save him now. Can save _Kurt _now.  
"And who are you to put the limit on redemption?" he says, derisively. You beg.  
"_Please!_" and your eyes are locked on Kurt's, trying to convey _It'll be okay, I promise _and _I'm sorry _and _I think I'm in love with you _all in a single look.  
"_Oh_, it seems we are in luck! You _like_ him. You _fancy _him. Some Christian you are! Is that why they kicked you out? Because you like _boys_?" and the contempt in the Captain's voice makes you want to throw up. "Let's see if he fancies you too …" and he pulls his pistol out, aiming it at your heart.  
"Leave him alone!" Kurt cries, and you can hear the panic, the utter despair in his voice.  
"Oh! He _does_! Was that why _you _were out with the mer_maids_? Because you're practically one of them? Do your kind call you a filthy little fa- " and you don't even try to stop the rage this time.  
"Shut _up_! You have no right to talk this way to him! You are _damned_-"  
"Oh, what do you know? Your God probably forsook you as soon as he learned you like to take it up th-"  
"Stop this! Why are you doing this?" And it's Kurt. He's trying to defend _you _just as hard as _you_'re trying to defend _him_.  
"Oh, I just want you to cry, pretty boy." And he uses the barrel of his gun to stroke along Kurt's face, tracing his jawbone like you long to do, but with soft fingers, not cold steel.  
"_Don't touch him._" But he just laughs, at you or the stony, impassive look on Kurt's face, you can't tell.  
"He won't. He won't give you what you want. He's stronger than you could ever dream of being." You hear yourself saying. Because if you don't know how to make them stop hurting him, the least you can do is draw the attention for a while.  
"Is he, now?" and you don't like the look that crosses his face. He keeps his eyes fixed on Kurt's face and slowly raises his arm to point to you. "Kill him." He says, a kind of vindictive glee in his voice, in the way he laughs as Kurt's eyes widen in horror, but remain dry. You barely have time to blink before there's a knife pressed to your throat. You're confused as it moves lower.  
"Don't cry for me, Kurt!" you yell, as you feel a slash across your front and a blow to the back of your head that has you seeing stars. Stars that are strangely blue and grey and green with just a hint of gold.

o*o*o

When you wake up, it's dark, and you're cold, and everything _hurts_. Your fingers gingerly touch the back of your head and you cringe when you feel the blood there. There's blood all down your front too. You try to think clearly through the haze of pain, but all you can think is _Kurt_, so you stumble up, forwards. You catch sight of him and your breath hitches in your throat. He's asleep, his delicate lashes casting long shadows across his face. He's in the same position as he was before – arms strung up, scales fighting to cover his legs, but there's a purple bruise blooming over his cheekbone and a fresh cut on his lip. You see red. You feel the rage bubbling, but you force it down, because _now's your chance_. There's nobody around and if you can cut him free then you can get him out of here.

"Kurt," you whisper, trying not to startle him. "Kurt, wake up. We've got to go," and you brush your hand against his shoulder. He jerks awake, gasping. So much for not startling him. "Kurt, it's okay – it's me, Blaine. We've got to get out of here-"  
"Blaine?" he asks, his voice so small and lost-sounding that you just want to sweep him into your arms and never let go. "Is it really you?" You nod, smiling gently.  
"I'm here, Kurt. I'll never leave you."  
"Oh _Blaine_," and you watch as a tiny smile begins to form on his face. His eyes are shining and … you watch in horror as rough hands grab you, pulling you away, and the Captain appears beside him, pressing a vial against his cheek. You can't tear your eyes away as a single tear slips free, sliding into the vial, and as Kurt _snarls_, teeth bared, tail writhing, churning up the water. He fixes his eyes on you and there's no trace left of the warmth they held only moments ago.

"_You,_" he hisses, spitting the word at you like he can't wait to get the taste out of his mouth.  
"No!" you cry, overcome with shock and guilt and _how can he think you did this to him? _"No, I didn't … I didn't know! Kurt! I'm so sorry, I didn't know!"  
"Tears of joy. He was too strong to cry tears of pain or loss, but tears of _joy_? Well, that's a woman's weakness."  
"_Fine_. You won. Just let him go now! You don't need him anymore!"  
"Let him _go_? Why, no, I think I'll leave him to rot like his sisters before him. Can you hear them, pretty boy? Can you hear their _screams_?"  
"_You sick bastard! Let him go!_" and your rage is on overdrive now, but you don't care.  
"Come, bring the priest. It's time." And then they're dragging you away, and you can see Kurt baring his teeth at anyone who spares him a glance.

You keep your gaze on him the whole time, but he doesn't meet your eyes.

o*o*o

They've bound your hands and you've no way of protecting yourself from the tumult of the battle you find yourself in the midst of. You hear snippets about a prophecy and a one legged man, but all you can think about is _Kurt _and _who's going to save him if you're dead? _You catch sight of a sword lying abandoned, rush over to it, start sawing at your bonds. You try so hard to ignore the sounds around you, the sounds of the fighting, the death, but it's probably a bad idea because suddenly there's a man swinging a sword down at you. You roll sharply to the side, sigh in relief as another pirate grabs his attention. You go back to your bonds, _finally _wrenching your hands free. You stand up abruptly, swinging round to find the pool you came in through, but all of a sudden there's a slashing pain across your stomach, and you fall to your knees.

The pain is simply bewildering. Your hands automatically clutch the wounded area and you have to stifle a retch as you look down to see blood and something else, too _brown _to be just blood, spilling from between your fingers. There's a loud clash from somewhere behind you which startles you out of your trance. You scramble to your feet, trying so hard to ignore the burning pain in your gut. You grab a knife and stagger away from the shouting, the sound of steel on steel, the cries of the wounded. You stagger away, away, back down through the fog of mist and the chill of the water, back outside, into the sunlight. Sunlight. Kurt would burn in the sunlight.

And suddenly you're trying to run. It's painful to say the least, but you've just got to get there _faster _and _oh, God, if you still love me, please let him still be alive_.  
"Kurt!" you yell as soon as you see him. "Kurt! No, no, no, Kurt, wake up!" because his figure is slumped, eyes closed, and you can see where the sun's been burning his flesh. "Kurt, Kurt, come on, Kurt wake up!" and you're cupping water with your hands and drizzling it over his chest, his face, his arms, any part of him that is vulnerable to the sun. It's only when water starts dripping onto his chest from your face that you realise you're crying. "Kurt … _please_," and your voice is cracked and hoarse from all the yelling and the crying and _there can't be a God because he's not waking up_. A sob chokes in your throat and you whimper as you cough up blood. "Oh, Kurt. I'm so sorry …" A tiny flicker. Just his eyelids twitching, but it was movement. "Kurt? Kurt! Come on, you can do this, stay with me, Kurt, please!" and you renew your efforts, ignoring that your blood is mixing in with the water, swirling it an ugly shade of red in places. His eyelashes flutter and then _finally _his eyes are on you again. "_Kurt_!" You set to work immediately on the bonds holding him in place.

They snap free and Kurt immediately submerges himself in the water. You drag your body to the edge of the pool, looking over the rim to catch a glimpse of his scales shining. There's nothing there. There's nobody there. The pool is empty. "Kurt?" you gasp out, breathless from the pain and the _oh Lord, did he just leave me here to die? _You let your head fall back, barely even wincing as it cracks against the rock, and you shut your eyes. You almost give up, but you just can't let yourself.

You hoist yourself up again and scoop up some water, washing your wound, biting on your lip to try and stifle the cries. You turn back to the pool and nothing can stop your gasp as his head breaches the surface. His eyes are shining with compassion, remorse, _something more_, and you can do nothing but stare.

"You're hurt," he says in that lilting accent of his.  
"In body only. My mind is at peace," and it shocks you to find that it's true. "Because of you."  
"Me?" and you're both back to flushing and avoiding each other's gaze.  
"I was lost. The winds, the tides, they were to renew a man's faith. For me, only you." And you've never spoken a truer word in your life.  
"Blaine, I can save you." He says, and he's reach up, cupping your cheek with his palm. "You need only ask."  
"I seek but one thing."  
"What is that?" And if you weren't dying, you would've sworn that teasing light was back in his eye.  
"Forgiveness. If not for me, you would never have been captured." You let all the guilt you feel colour your tone.  
"Ask," and yes, that light is definitely there, amongst the blue and grey and green with a hint of gold.  
"Forgive me?" And he's surging upwards, pressing his lips to yours. His arms slither around you, dragging you down, and somewhere, a little voice is telling you that you should be terrified, but with his arms around you, his lips on yours, you feel like you're in Heaven.

**Woohoo! Okay, so that's the longest thing I've ever written, and the most amount of time I've ever spent on something I've written, and it's also my 150****th**** story, so whoops all around! But seriously, I'd really appreciate thoughts on this one :3  
xx**


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